


Paths That Won't Ever Cross Again

by Naeris



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Altered Verdant Wind, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Battle of the Great Bridge of Myrddin (Fire Emblem), Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27940844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naeris/pseuds/Naeris
Summary: This particular battle was different from the countless others Claude had led. Not because it made him any less sick, quite the contrary; he felt that constraining feeling in his throat all the more, his breath trapped inside his burning lungs, refusing to leave. A purple armor, adorned with gold, shone in the distance, highlighted by the morning sun as all his thoughts were taken away. Because he knew it all too well, as well as the person wearing it.Claude faces Lorenz at the Great Bridge of Myrddin.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Paths That Won't Ever Cross Again

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This fic is inspired by [this cut content](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UE_74ntPR0&ab_channel=DeathChaos), in which you fight Lorenz in Chapter 16 of Verdant Wind. I kept some of the dialogues, so these parts aren't mine.
> 
> I decided to write a more vulnerable side of Claude, because I think that there must be a lot going on for him behind his mysterious ways.
> 
> Also, this is the first thing I ever post. I want to improve, so any constructive feedback is really appreciated! I apologize for eventual mistakes, English isn't my first language, but I did my best.
> 
>  **Warning** for death, talk of death, and mention of blood, but nothing graphic
> 
> Thanks to those who'll read!

Claude had once thought of the Great Bridge of Myrddin as a grand link that brought together people and countries alike, but, as Leicester’s army fought to take its control under his command, blood-covered stone towering over them, so cold despite the shining sun, he was reminded of the ruins of Garreg Mach, disfigured until all that remained were shadows of the hope they had previously carried. But perhaps that was what war did to men and places, Claude had never been able to reconcile the ravaged sites with his memories as a student.

He wasn’t like some of his classmates that thrived in war, never more at home than in the chaos of a battle. The truth was that he was a pacifist at heart, and there wasn’t a battle in which took part that he did not despise.

But this particular battle was different from the countless others he had led. Not because it made him any less sick, quite the contrary; he felt that constraining feeling in his throat all the more, his breath trapped inside his burning lungs, refusing to leave. He felt like his stomach was in free fall.

Dread, his mind took notice, but he ignored it. He couldn’t focus on anything else than the figure riding through the bridge with dignity, carrying itself with a grace that felt so out of place in the tumult around it. A purple armor, adorned with gold, shone in the distance, highlighted by the morning sun as all his thoughts were taken away. Because he knew it all too well, as well as the person wearing it.

Claude wondered if he was imagining things, since, while he had found Lorenz’s presence comforting until then, it only felt painfully cruel in that instant.

Claude pulled on his Wyvern’s harness and darted higher towards the sky, dodging arrows while shooting his own at the soldiers under him. He vaguely heard his friends’ voices shouting after him, but paid them no mind, simply ordering his battalion to follow. Nothing mattered as he dashed above the narrow wooden bridge on the side, heading north-west towards the reinforcement that had just come.

It was Lorenz’s voice that dragged him out of his stupor.

“I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, have arrived to join the battle in my father’s stead!” he addressed Ferdinand, whom he had just joined where he was stationed.

Claude was close enough to hear the shouting, yet still poised voice now – always controlled – but it seemed he hadn’t been seen yet.

It was relieving to be able to delay the inevitable, if only for a second longer. If he clung to his last hope, he could almost believe that his sleep deprived mind had finally betrayed him. Deluding himself felt like the only painless option now. Just like when the Cathedral’s bells struck morning after another sleepless night, he would close his eyes one last time and pretend he could keep laying in his cramped bed for a as long as he wished. And then, he would open them and face it all, like he always did. Because surely, when their eyes met, reality would come crush him with no possibility to turn back.

Reality came far too soon indeed. A head turned towards him, as if summoned, and Claude met a lavender look that, for the briefest instant, mirrored his own pain. But it was gone as soon as it had appeared, replaced by what he could only describe as an odd mixture of resignment and determination in the other man’s irises.

If he had trouble breathing before, it seemed nearly impossible now.

* * *

Claude couldn’t point exactly when or how their strange relationship had started.

Perhaps with a pointed look across the Roundtable, or a hand wandering lower than strictly proper during a particularly lovely waltz, or with the realization that he could tell exactly how Lorenz was feeling by the thin arch of his brows.

But that didn’t matter, because it had soon evolved into long nights tangled in each other’s arms, after peaceful walks in that rose garden in which Lorenz took so much pride – ‘a Gloucester’s pride’, he would repeat, although Claude cared less about the famous roses than the company.

Sleep felt unnecessary during these nights. As if merely drifting away for a second would rob them of their fragile peace. As if sleep, instead of bringing it, would take their blissful dream away.

They would lay together, sometimes speak of the past, but never of the future. Surely, mentioning it would summon a grimmer tomorrow that was bound to appear as soon as its name was uttered, ready to sink its claws in their unguarded backs.

They had never named it either, afraid that dragging it out in the light would cause the soft, delicate veil that draped it in soothing safety to tear.

However, in the secret of his own mind, Claude had come to realize with stinging clarity that, was there ever something he was to call love, it would be this feeling of ease that filled him whenever he was near Lorenz, his presence a constant reassurance that there still was hope, after all.

They had both clung to it desperately, with all their strength, and let it carry them through these painful years. Such had been their only comfort in a brutal time of war.

Until now.

Now, when all Claude could think of were lilac strands of hair, smooth as milky skin, so pale against his own, of elegantly crossed legs, of warm, artfully brewed tea that carried bergamot fragrances in its rising steam, and of a melodic laugh that would fill the room with a lightness he could feel echo inside of him and cover all his ache until it was completely forgotten. If only for a time.

Now, gone were bergamot scent and caressing laughter, replaced by an iron sickening smell and the clashing of weapons everywhere around them.

* * *

When his friends caught up with him, it became apparent that Claude wasn’t the only one disturbed by that apparition.

Behind the roaring of metal against metal and battle cries, filled with rage and pain alike, he could make out Marianne’s faint sobbing behind him, so out of place in its softness that, to him, it soon became louder than the rest.

He had heard that sound before. It was the same she had made during their first mission in the Red Canyon during their Academy days, when she had killed a man for the first time. When they all had killed a man for the first time. She had wept the entire journey back to the Monastery and for some time after, fervently praying with her shaking hands clasped tight together. He had seen her cry at each of their missions for the following months, too. Back in the days, he would still hear her whenever he passed by her room during his nightly trips to the library.

He wondered when she had stopped crying over these nameless bodies fallen at their hands. To him, they eventually stopped existing altogether, neither before, and especially nor after they fell. Because what else could you do to keep facing yourself day after day? Now, these times and feelings felt so distant, the faces of those at the tip of his arrows a hazy blankness.

However, this was no unknown, faceless soldier standing in front of him. That haunting noise, so soft in its unbearableness, made him painfully aware of that fact. As if he had been able to think about anything else, from the moment he saw Lorenz surrounded by those red uniforms…

No one had said anything yet, and when he opened his mouth without knowing what would come out - anything, truly _anything_ , would have been better than this deafening semblance of a silence that had trapped them - Leonie beat him to it.

“You traitor,” she spat. “Is that what ‘doing your noble duty’ is to you? Turning against the Alliance and against your friends?”

She emphasized the word friend, as if that particular word associated with such a man disgusted her. It probably did. Claude saw Lorenz’s eyes widen before darting down, lips quivering with what could either be shame or sorrow. When he didn’t answer right away, Leonie’s contemptuous sneer told him that she at least had interpreted it as shame.

The same hurt Marianne had expressed as sorrow, Leonie had turned into furry.

Being looked down on made Lorenz fix his eyes back on her with renewed resolve.

“It is my duty as a nobleman to protect those under my station. The people…” He paused, before continuing almost gently, “your village.”

At that, she let out a scandalized gasp, but he cut her before she could reply. “With Gloucester so close to the Adrestian border, allying with the Empire is the only reasonable choice. I cannot let the weak suffer under an imperial invasion. Not if I can prevent it. And I shall prevent it with my life. No matter my sentiment on the matter. _That_ is my noble duty.”

He had now regained the entire confidence of his youth, despite sounding a bit breathless, either form anger or determination.

Although he could not see her, Claude knew Leonie was fuming by the indignant groan she let out. He felt sick witnessing such animosity between his friends. This sounded far too much like his last conversation with the man, the merciless show replaying itself with new performers before his helpless eyes. He had heard enough. Whatever she was about to say or do, he did not want to know.

“Leonie, go after Ferdinand.”

Not once did he look away from the man before him. He had expected her to protest, but she must have held back, because, after a few long seconds, she begrudgingly rode south after the Imperial General, towards the main bridge, her adjutant Marianne in tow.

And just like that they were alone. Or as alone as two could be in the midst of clashing and falling bodies.

* * *

They were sitting on a stone bench in the Duke’s Palace’s garden in Derdriu, leaning on the silent contentment of knowing another to be with you. The sun had already set despite the evening having barely begun, like it always did during the Red Wolf Moon. But it still wasn’t so dark that they couldn’t gaze at the last roses covered bushes, the few brave enough to still flaunt their late flowers in the rapidly cooling weather. Under the feeble night light, the white spots seemed to glow like little fairies against the dark leaves.

Lorenz often complained that it was only a pale figure next to the glorious Gloucester roses garden back home, but Claude found the sight, albeit admittedly less majestic, to be just as pretty, with the dreamlike feeling it conveyed once night came.

Besides, Lorenz always chose to spend most of his time in Derdriu anyway. _For him_ , a small voice whispered in Claude’s head. Even unspoken, the idea warmed up his chest. He always preferred to guess at the truth over being told directly anyway. However, he never really dared to tease Lorenz about it, a small part of him afraid that the other man would come less, just to prove him wrong. That was just how stubborn Lorenz was. No matter how delightful the blush teasing Lorenz would get him, it definitely wasn’t worth the risk.

Instead, Claude would just smile his knowing smile, which would earn him an almost as lovely blush. ‘Infuriating’, Lorenz called this smile, but Claude knew better: infatuating was what he truly meant.

“Do you sometimes think about your death?”

The question had taken him aback. It was asked with such forward naivety, as earnest as it was unexpected. It felt candid coming from Lorenz.

“Is this what you usually think about during a romantic date in a garden? And here I thought I was being particularly charming tonight,” Claude heard himself answer.

No matter how many times they had spent together, or how much trust and care had bloomed between them, he would always come back to this playful avoidance when taken off guard. The truth that he was scared of not being in control. Control had always been all he could rely on. It was what allowed him to survive his entire childhood. It was the reason he was such a schemer too: good plans left nothing to chance.

Lorenz shook his head in that condescending way of his.

 _No_ , Claude realized with guilt, _control_ had been _his only resort_. Now he had someone to rely on. Someone he wanted to rely on, and who relied on him in return.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I do, sometimes.” It was an invitation, an extended hand signaling to the noble that, whatever was preoccupying him, he could share it all with Claude.

There was a small pause before he got an answer. Next to him Lorenz was looking at the night sky, his pensive profile highlighted by the moon’s soft glow. This way, his sharp features seemed even more pronounced, just like the furrowing of his brows, his face as pale as the roses under the silver light. He would always avoid looking Claude in the eyes when preoccupied.

“I often do,” he whispered after a moment. “I wonder what will be left of me after I leave this world. I was raised to always consider my legacy. Everything I do, I must do it for the future of my house, for the future of the Alliance.”

Claude nodded, encouraging him to carry on.

“Joining the Academy, finding a respectable wife of noble birth, watching you. Sometimes, I fear it’ll never be enough. And I wonder what’s the right thing to do.” He gave a tired chuckle. “I once foolishly thought you were a mere impostor, and that it was my rightful place to lead the Alliance. I now know I was mistaken. I know what I have to do, but here I am, selfishly chasing an empty dream with you. I wonder just how far my foolishness goes.”

“You’re not foolish,” Claude interjected, taking Lorenz’s hand on impulse with more force that strictly necessary. Lorenz was looking at him now, eyes round with surprise and a touch of curiosity.

Claude continued quietly, with a fondness that, if perhaps once rare, had long become natural when it came to the Gloucester heir, “Not anymore. You’re the most selfless person I know, and you stand by your ideal of nobility more than ever. As annoying as that ideal may be.”

That got him a vexed huff that only served to mask the smile he was sure was making its way on Lorenz’s face. He didn’t hide his own.

“That’s why you must allow yourself to be a bit selfish every now and then. How are you supposed to live if you think about your death all the time?”

“I’ll have you know that I don’t think about it _all_ the time,” was Lorenz’s reply. Despite trying to sound disdainful, he looked closer to a sulking child with his puffed cheeks. Adorable.

“I know, you think a lot about me too.” Judging the pink tinge on Lorenz’s cheeks, Claude was right. “Well, now I hope that, when you start thinking about what’ll happen when you die, you’ll remember what I told you and think of me instead.” With a mischievous tone, “After all, I’m far more pleasant than death.”

“Hardly.” It lacked its usual bite, and Claude felt his grin widen again. “However, despite how foolish a thought it is, I hope that, whenever I die, it will be by your side. I’ll allow that small selfishness.”

Claude hadn’t let go of Lorenz’s gloved hand since he had impulsively grabbed it and did not for the rest of the night. Despite being chilled by the night air, it felt warm in his palm when it gently squeezed back.

* * *

With feigned confidence, Claude made one last attempt at convincing the man in front of him, “Aren’t you gonna stand aside, Lorenz? Unless we win, the Alliance can’t survive.”

Lorenz frowned, but remained composed. “Even if that’s so, to allow you past without a fight would be pure cowardice, I’m afraid.” Predictably, his answer hadn’t changed since their last conversation. He had already told Claude everything he had to say, it seemed.

“You are one stubborn guy,” Claude sighed, while trying his hardest not to let the pain show on his face. He had to stay strong, to pretend he wasn’t affected. That, at least, he knew how to do. He couldn’t falter, both for his and Lorenz’s sake.

But then, why did everything hurt so much? Even though he’d already known what would happen, one look at Lorenz had been enough to make every buried feeling resurface with the renewed vigor of ghosts rising from their graves, desperately grasping at their unfulfilled wishes. He had thought to be prepared. He had tried so hard to.

Claude had never stopped hoping, the dreaming fool that he was. But as he saw Lorenz clench his lance in his hand to raise it, he sensed the last flame of hope go out. He knew there was no reasoning the other man. He had always known, really. He had already lost all his chances, one after the other.

Once the noble’s mind was made, he was unshakable. He had once admired Lorenz for it. But, had it been a strength, would it really have brought them there, pointing their weapons at each other?

When he caught a glimpse of Thyrsus glow against Lorenz’s side, Claude released Failnaught’s string.

The first arrow pierced through the black stallion, making his rider tumble to the ground with a surprised shriek. Before he could recover from the fall, a second one had already pierced his shining armor, lodging itself in his chest.

Despite the sight in front of him and the lingering touch of the bowstring on his fingers, Claude could have sworn it was his heart that had been pierced. He felt his own breath halt in tow with Lorenz’s gasp of pain, but, when he brought the same hand that had freed both arrows to his chest, there was no weapon to remove from his wound to mirror Lorenz’s own.

Claude haphazardly dismounted his wyvern, Failnaught hitting the ground with a thump. The distance between the two men felt greater than ever as Claude staggered on his feet, trying to make his way to the collapsed body.

When he finally crashed down next to the fallen figure, a shaking hand hesitantly reached for Lorenz’s chest, right where it had pressed against his own an instant before. He could still feel the ache there, almost as acutely as if it had been Lorenz’s.

“Lorenz, what have we done?” his own cracked voice forced its way past his tense throat. It was trembling, just like his hands, barely a whisper in the constant racket that surrounded them. But with how close they were – Claude didn’t remember lowering his face that much – Lorenz must have heard it nonetheless, because his eyes softened just the slightest bit in an attempt at reassurance. Even in this position, Lorenz was still the one looking after him…

“We did what we had to do.” In spite of his pained face and how hoarse he sounded, Lorenz’s voice managed to be tender while it carried the familiar fondness of his memories. “In the end, I was able to die by your side. I suppose I still am selfish after all, to ask such a thing of you, after everything I put you through.”

He was. But Claude was just as selfish, even more. And to him, the only thing worse than Lorenz dying was Lorenz dying away from him. It definitely was twisted, but, at least, he would get to hold him one last time. Was that not what he had desperately longed for during these lament-filled past months, ever since they had parted?

* * *

The last time they had been face to face was before he returned to the monastery after five long years. He had stopped in Gloucester on his way, in hope of convincing Lorenz to come with him.

The other Golden Deer definitely remembered their promise. Perhaps the professor would even be there, just as they had agreed. And perhaps, together, they could turn the tides of this war. Surely, together they could, he had pleaded. But he only received a sad glance and a strained smile in response. Such an expression wasn’t supposed to be painted on Lorenz’s face, considering how painfully wrong it felt.

With that silence, it dawned on him. “You won’t come.”

There was no point in trying to ignore it anymore. He had dreaded this outcome so acutely during the entire flight from Derdriu, his knuckles turning as white as his wyvern with how tight he grasped its reins. How he’d hoped for his fear to be unfounded then, and how he’d almost managed to persuade himself! Surely, Lorenz would fight with him like he had all this time. Surely, he would _chose him_ , he’d thought.

“I won’t,” Lorenz spoke carefully, almost hesitantly, one word at a time, as if addressing a spooked animal. Claude certainly felt like one in that instant. “I cannot abandon Gloucester. Both my house and my people.”

He took a step back. His violet strands, falling from where they were held behind his ear, obscured his eyes with a shadow.

“My father received a letter from the Empire, asking for his assistance. However, my Father is no fighter. He wants me to fight in his stead. As the heir of house Gloucester, it is my duty.”

The borrowed words, no doubt his father’s, felt hollow in Lorenz’s mouth. Just like when he had spoken about the importance of strengthening the Gloucester name when he was still a student. Distant words, spoken with cold rigidity, that he only believed to be true because they were all he had ever heard and recited in turn, again and again, until they finally became truths, etched too deep in him to be erased.

But no matter how many times Lorenz repeated these words, Claude couldn’t accept them. This was worse than he had imagined. He had come somewhat prepared for a refusal, but to face the other man on the battlefield… He could not bear it.

“Is there really no other way?” He hated how scared he sounded.

“I fear there isn’t.”

There it was again, that icy tone. It was all it took for dread to morph into anger. Claude was furious. Furious at the world for being so broken that it led allies to war. Furious at Lorenz for what felt so much like a betrayal. Finally, furious at himself for not having predicted this outcome, too focused on his desires in spite of his better judgement.

“So, you’re still doing everything your father says,” he spat. After all these years, he’d thought the man to have grown out of the perfect mold his father had crafted for him to take the shape of the perfect little noble and proper son. “I thought you became better than that.” Had these five past years meant anything at all to Lorenz? Had _he_?

“How dare you? This has nothing to do with Father. I took this decision because I believe it’s the right thing to do.” Now, Lorenz was angry too.

“Oh? So, now you believe that siding with a bloodthirsty Emperor– that siding against the Alliance’s the right thing to do? That’s even better.”

“I will not tolerate you slandering me! Surely, you of all people should understand that nothing is as simple.”

“Of course, it’s not! Nothing is. But really, Lorenz, is that what you want?”

“What I want doesn’t matter! Of course, I want to fight for the Alliance. With everyone. With you.” His voice took a high pitch at that last word. “Although, with Gloucester’s territory so close to the border, there isn’t much of a choice. It isn’t about my house’s profit. Without doubt, to my father, it is. But not to me.”

He approached once more, closer than before, to stand before Claude, who had to raise his head in turn. When he started again, it was lower, and his eyes, if still shining with determination, bore grief when they met Claude’s. “A noble’s duty is first and foremost to protect the people depending on them. How could I keep calling myself one after having subjected the people of Gloucester to destruction and suffering, when I had the opportunity to avoid it? I cannot afford be selfish anymore, now more than ever. And for that, I certainly am not sorry.”

Claude felt all his anger melt under this gaze, because he could feel the other’s pain echoing in his own. He didn’t answer, he didn’t trust himself to. Instead, he lifted a tentative hand to Lorenz’s face, tilting it to delicately rest his forehead against his own, in silent acceptance.

In the end, Lorenz’s decision had been made, and Claude respected him too much to resent him for following his ideals. Because, no matter how much his decision hurt, or how unfair it seemed, his skin was warm against Claude’s. Claude would resign himself. For him, he would endure it all. Because he loved Lorenz and all his cruel selflessness.

The smile that gently bloomed on Lorenz’s lips, albeit still a bit pained, had a tender edge to it. “You once told me that you admired your mother for abandoning everything for love. But we’ll never be like that. Not when you place your ambitions above all things, and I my duty. We both know we would have been miserable running away. So, don’t be angry, as my time by your side still was the best I ever had.”

It was weird being comforted by Lorenz, when he was the one to tear them apart. But with these words, things felt the least bit right again, so Claude let himself be led by the gentle hand of affection one more time, back to their familiar dance.

“I was happy too.” His voice was barely a whisper, but still made Lorenz’s eyes soften in that enticing way they did whenever he was pleased with Claude. That alone was enough a reward, he supposed.

These were the last words they shared, as they held each other one last time, eyes closed, before ultimately letting go.

It turned out the professor really was alive, after all, a fact that should have filled Claude with hope and joy. It did, in a way. However, as he watched his former classmates laugh and glow at being reunited after so long, the weight in his chest only increased.

When the Golden Deer wondered why Lorenz wasn’t present, he simply brushed it off with a joke, and, at their puzzled expressions, offered a forced smile he hoped was not too obviously pained. If they all saw right through it, none said a word.

* * *

Claude held Lorenz’s head in his lap as gently as he could, letting his hands thread through soft locks one more time, just like he used to do when Lorenz would fall asleep against him. He whispered sweet nothings, like all those nights, and, was it not for the thick blood – _Lorenz’s blood_ – wetting his hands through his leather gloves, he would have believed them to be back in Derdiu, a warm blanket and each other to shield them from the cold.

Lorenz’s pale lips were stretched in a strained smile that never reached his gradually closing eyes. Claude, for his part, forced himself to keep them open. Closing them would’ve felt like a betrayal of a sort. He needed to watch him, to witness the way he lived, just as he had watched Lorenz until then. Mostly, he needed to remember the face he had so loved. He needed to examine and pry for the smallest detail it gave away. He needed to make sure he would never forget.

Purple hair fell from the face he cradled in his lap as he repeatedly pressed his lips against the damp cold skin, spotted by both sweat and heavy drops. He tasted salt on his lips, whether from Lorenz’s tears or his own, he couldn’t tell. Eyelashes, darkened by water, clashed against even paler than usual cheeks, probably drained of color from the blood loss. He bent to kiss them too. When he finally reached for the lips, that awkward smile remained.

“Goodbye, Lorenz,” he repeated, and repeated, and repeated. Until all that left his mouth was a quivering sob.

Everything felt surreal in that instant, as if he wasn't the one moving his body, watching himself hold a ghost in his arms. How could a battlefield be so quiet around them? The previous cacophony had suddenly become a harrowing silence, only broken by his short breathing, resonating in tone with his heartbeat, so hard he could feel it throbbing painfully inside his head. It was deafening in its own way. He felt his hold tighten around the arrow stuck in Lorenz’s chest as he slowly pulled to removed it. He hadn’t even realized grabbing it in his trance.

A heartbeat. A haunting smile. Warm blood on his fingers. Then everything was over.

Claude did not celebrate their victory that night.

* * *

A month later, when Leicester’s troops crossed the Great Bridge of Myrddin once again, heading to Gronder, Claude swore that he would bring an end to this pointless suffering as he threw a crimson rose down the Airmid river.


End file.
